Someone Else’s Record Collection

I came across this post from Woebot while searching for something on the composer Mauricio Kagel. I like the idea that this guy makes his living providing very expensive rare vinyl to arty types who can justify the expenditure. I know what seeing such records feels like. Oh Woe!

SWAG
Wonderboy makes very good money on the side as a record dealer. Bar possibly one or two people (he insists they exist) he’s Europe’s pre-eminent dealer. His list of clients is beyond scary. Interestingly a major part of his trade is in Modern Jazz; selling Argentinian Trios to Japanese collectors, and Tubby Hayes records to the highest bidder. Apparently he’s losing interest in the dealing game, becoming buried deeper in making his own stuff. I picked up four records off him, which I could scarcely afford, however we don’t hook up all that often. I’m going to keep the identity of those ones a secret, but I thought you might be interested to know what else he had in his bag; records I didn’t buy. He’d already sold three apparently amazing Bruno Nicolai Italian Soundtracks before he got to me.

Elevator Music – Joseph Lanza

Picador, 1994
This looked like a promising book on Muzak, lounge music, and everything in between,
but I was disappointed in the end by it. Desperately in need of a coherent thesis and a discriminating editor, Joseph Lanza’s book is a bit of history here, some hagiography there, with one or two interviews thrown in because he could.
One main problem is that I don’t believe Lanza likes half of the music he writes about. Sure he probably likes Martin Denny and Les Baxter, but I don’t feel any passion when he’s writing about Mantovani. And it’s like he thought the former would be a great topic for a book, or perhaps Muzak (and aren’t they the same thing? I hear someone rhetorically asking), then set off to write. As deadline loomed Lanza discovers–gasp–he doesn’t really like 90% of this stuff.
Evidence of my theory is that he packs his hagiographies of these artists with ad copy quotes from the backs of albums. Instead of responding to the music honestly, Lanza tells us what some record company stooge in the ’50s told us to feel.
The initial history of Muzak is interesting, as the idea of music as crowd control is examined. But then follows a long section of musician biographies, none of which are particularly enlightening, or made me curious to hunt anybody’s work down in thrift stores. To me there’s worlds of difference between Peter Nero and Antonio Jobim–to Lanza there’s not.
Then the book looks around for things to write about. He spends a chapter on the Mystic Moods and 101 Strings orchestras, trying to make a case for their albums’ sonic playfulness. There’s a chapter on “space music” and Windham Hill that doesn’t tell me too much about the label and its impact (and isn’t that impact over?).
As this book is written in 1994, we get an interview with Angelo Badalamenti on his Twin Peaks music, but it feels out of place here. Lanza tries to make a case for his subject and overreaches:

“Demographics in the future will be defined less and less by sex, age, politics, or even income, and more and more by one’s taste for exotic locales or nostalgic situations absorbed from childhood television exposure–a social direction which gives background music an awe-inspiring role.”

You don’t actually believe that, do you?
Anyway, do we even have Muzak piped in buildings these days? Everywhere I go, they have bloody “lite rock” playing, supposedly soothing me with the screechings of Mariah and Whitney.

The End of an Era

Can you frickin’ believe this? I was cleaning my glasses yesterday and the frames broke at the nose! I’ve had these glasses since 1997–they’re almost a part of my body. (Plus they were the only Armani I owned…) Now I’ve got to go through the expense of new frames, new lenses, and a trip to the eye doctor (the last one, fortunately, is insured…)
Again: F**K!!!!